


The Two Faces of Bat

by Mark_Harbinger



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics), Doctor Fate (Comics)
Genre: Crossover, Gen, The Brave and the Bold, Young Bruce Wayne
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-05-04
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:41:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24010726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mark_Harbinger/pseuds/Mark_Harbinger
Summary: A beautiful young woman whose mother was killed by an Egyptian Death Cult introduces herself into Kent Nelson's life. Knowing that Nelson was both a friend of her mother and a master of ancient magics, she asks for his help to solve the mystery of the bloody tarot cards they keep sending her.Kent Nelson senses he might be too close to this and something powerful blocks his insight: and so he asks for help from perhaps the world's greatest detective mind, a young Bruce Wayne.Before he prowled Gotham City, young Bruce learned something about adventures from a family friend, "Uncle Kent", on the streets of Cairo. Come read about how it all started!
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	The Two Faces of Bat

The Two Faces of Bat

 _If we analyze the principles of thought on which magic is based, they_  
_will probably be found to resolve themselves into two: first, that like_  
_produces like, or that an effect resembles its cause; and, second, that_  
_things which have once been in contact with each other continue to act_  
_on each other at a distance after the physical contact has been severed._  
\-- James George Frazer,  
“The Golden Bough”  
Sympathetic Magic; Part 1:  
The Principles of Magic (1889)

###

Egypt. The Year 20--.

“Go to the special room, Shiv. Now, dear! Hurry!” Siobahn noticed a tone of panic as her mother hissed over the pounding on the house's side door.

"Is it a customer? I'll just stay in the bedchambers. I'll be quiet." The teen girl was right about the customary procedure. She liked it in there. She especially liked sitting there and grooming her hair with the two 'Cow Goddess' comb-edged wall-decorations that hung above her Mom's mirror. She had to be careful to hold them just right-- for each of them, on one end was the 'comb', with a face in profile behind it. While the other end jutted downward in a wiggle, like a tail. But those 'tails' were sharper than any knife Siobahn had ever touched. So she had to hold them, very carefully, by the face.

The two wall hangings were a pair...two profiles, facing opposite directions. But the faces fit together into one full-on frontal face, like a sun of promise.

"No. This isn't a normal customer. Come!" And Siobahn's mother led her by the arm to the dining room. She pushed the table aside and lifted the rug, revealing the wood panel of the floor below. The pounding on the door got louder. Men's voices called the mother's name.

Siobahn climbed down into the hiding place under the table. Before replacing everything her Mom paused for a moment and looked directly at her, switching from English to Arabic: <“ _No matter what you hear, be silent. No matter what happens, my pretty Yaqut, you know I love you and my spirit will always be with you. You know that, right?_ ”>

Siobahn just nodded. The cool air in the hidden cellar was stale and moist. Part of the spider web she passed through when she first climbed downs still clung to her face. Tears formed in the corners of her eyes-- she couldn't believe what was happening. Was this really going to happen this way? Today? Mom seemed to think so...

The sound of the table sliding back into place ended just as the sound of the front door crashing open could be heard.

“How dare you barge in here like this?!” Mom was trying to sound brave.

“Where is the gem, Madame Bella?” a high-pitched effete male voice said in answer. Footsteps of several people could be heard by Siobahn. Her mom's lighter gait and several other sets of heavier, men's boots.

“Wh- what?”

“It was the archeologist's but he left it with you, yes? We now claim it as our own. As recompense for his...defilement of our holy property.”

“I no longer answer to the Order.”

“But there you are wrong. We let you stray, but you must always return to the path.”

There was no answer. Only a pause as Shiv could feel the hairs on the back of her arms standing on edge, as though a sandstorm was coming. Her mother was casting. But not for second sight like when she did a tarot reading, but for a display of force--like when she had to protect herself or Shiv on those times when they were caught out late at night...

The girl could hear the screams from two of the men as their bodies thudded to the floor. But now the one who had been talking before yelled something in a strange language and suddenly another body could be heard falling.

Then silence.

“M-mom?” Siobahn whispered.

And then there was a gunshot that pierced the floorboards; and the girl covered her head and screamed into the darkness.

###

Thirty Years Later. "The ENP was quite pleased with your help last month," Kent said to his young associate from across the chessboard, "The Inspector gave me two cases of home-made _emmer_ beer by way of thanks.”

“Lord Inspector Sayal. Of the Egyptian National Police. Gave you beer. For my help,” Bruce repeated in his impossibly deep baritone. He spoke each phrase in-between exercise repetitions.

Bruce was on his perch about ten feet away, his arms wrapped inside cloth loops hung from the ceiling beams. He was doing hanging leg raises, keeping his legs slightly bent and lifting them up until they were parallel with the ground. He made sure to only speak as part of the exhale that always preceded one of the lifts. This left less air in the diaphragm, so he could contract it that much more on the lift.

“He knows you don't drink. In fact, he wondered 'why the rich boy on vacation helps at all'?”

“I like solving crimes. It distracts. Knight to King's Bishop...six. Check.” Bruce's responses were a growling hum as he stared out the window to the windswept sepia of the sandscape below his rented palatial villa.

Bruce had not yet so much as glanced at the board. He had a photographic memory and--as always when they played--Kent was saying his moves out loud so Bruce could picture the board.

“Distracts from what? Pawn takes Knight.”

“From thinking about punishing the criminals. Pawn takes Pawn.”

“And how often do you think about that? Rook to King's Knight One.” Now that the file was open, this move threatened a crushing attack against Bruce's castled King.

Bruce finished the thirtieth and last repetition and dropped to the ground. He wasn't even sweating: “All the time.”

Despite Bruce being perhaps the smartest and most physically perfect specimen that he knew, Kent still felt sorry for the boy. He knew that Bruce's family was lost to criminals a lifetime ago when he was only a child. He arrived here in Egypt, at Kent's doorstep, six months ago, after a single phone call. _Hey, Uncle Kent, I wondered if I could just get away from it all for a while?_ Kent, an archeologist, had been a friend of the family and had indeed offered Bruce a place to stay after the funeral. But that was well on a decade ago. He never expected Bruce to take him up on it.

Bruce walked up and then accused, a bit harshly: "I assume you all drank the beer at once." Bruce said this as he made the next move on his own...moving a Rook to Queen's One, so now it was sitting right next to his other Rook. To Kent, this move seemed pointless. It did nothing to help Bruce's position, defensively; and it wasn't even controlling the Queen's file, as it was blocked by Bruce's bishop on Queen's three. _Why?..._

“What? Oh, ah, maybe I did...,” Kent started to mention the young lady with whom he had drank it, but that was a touchy subject, “Although let's keep it between us, eh, wouldn't want to acquire a reputation as...a...drinker...ah, Queen takes Knight.” He narrated the move out of force of habit. Kent now threatened checkmate in two moves; one move if Bruce didn't see it. Did Bruce just make a mistake?

“You don't want a reputation as a drinker.” Bruce was again doing that thing where he repeats that others have said. “Kent, every time you go to a bar, as soon as you order your first drink, the entire room empties like there's going to be a duel in the Old West.” Bruce moved quickly. Picking up his other Rook, he moved it the length of the file and took Kent's knight: “Check.”

“What can I say, I tend to start political discussions when I imbibe. And those tend to lead to...animated discussions, thereafter.”

“Fistfights. Brawls.”

“Lively exchanges. So, now they move everyone out, as a preemptive move. Serve the others outside. I outspend the rest of the customers on my own anyway. But this is preferable to what used to happen...they used to move me into the back-- and they try to subdue me with one of their in-house females.”

“Whores?”

“Summer brides. It's called Nikah Mut'ah. A temporary marriage, translates literally as 'pleasure marriage'. Typically lasts for as long as, say, a vacation-- but can be for as short as an hour. Perfectly legal.”

Bruce tried hard to not be judgmental. “And you participated in this?”

“Never. Oh, I would play along. Pay the girls...as often as not, they were underage. We'd share a few drinks, perhaps, if they seemed more mature. Nice discussions. I learned a lot about life around here that way. Found out a lot about a lot of people. Secured my 'friendship' with various local officials...including the Prosecutor. People become friends quickly once you have dirt on them.

 _That's why you don't get arrested for your 'public drunkenness'_ , figured Bruce as he waited for Kent's move to extricate himself from check.

"Knight takes Rook," said Kent.

Bruce didn't hesitate. He moved his Queen, which had been sitting off at the opposite side of the board, and took the Knight, putting Kent in check again.

“Check.”

But Kent shook his head. The Queen was unprotected. As moving away would have led to a checkmate, Kent simply took the piece: “King takes Queen...?” He knew the game had reached the inevitable stage where all Kent could do was await what Bruce had already been planning.

Now Bruce did narrate as he moved. “Bishop to King's bishop five. Check.”

Kent shook his head. It wasn't just check, it was check from both that bishop and that rook behind it that he had 'pointlessly' put in place behind it a bit ago. Kent now realized that the sudden question about beer from Bruce wasn't just a friendly jab-- it was a distraction so that Ken wouldn't see the import of the Rook move at the time. _Always thinking strategically._

Kent silently moved his King back to its original square to escape check. His loss was now inevitable...even though he was only one move away from winning himself.

Bruce moved the same bishop to where the Queen had been a moment ago: “Check.”

Kent moved the King one square to its left, but there was no place to hide.

Bruce moved his other bishop to his Queen's seven. It was protected by a pawn. The other bishop was protected by the Rook. There was nowhere to run.

“Check. And mate. Good game.”

"Always a pleasure, m'boy." Kent held his hand out for a handshake and he reflected over the board. "You and that Evans Gambit, sacrificing a pawn right away. And the Queen, too. Your willingness to lose pieces, even your Queen, to secure victory...is always impressive."

“But it wouldn't have worked unless the bishop hadn't been placed at the correct spot in the very beginning.” As Bruce shook his hand: “So, what was her name?”

“Who?”

“The woman you drank the beer with?”

 _How does he do that?_ thought Kent. “What makes you--?”

“You came here early, interrupting my workout, so something urgent is bothering you. But it's not an emergency or else you would've told me about it right away and you would have come immediately thereafter. You brought the beer up, which led me to that line of inquiry. And, as a matter of fact, you do not tend to drink gifts before you drink your existing stock of craft beers...unless you are showing off. So, once you told me that, it all adds up to a personal problem revolving around when you drank it. And as for the problem being a _woman_...” Bruce shrugged.

"It was no ordinary woman. Her name is Ruby Reed and she is brilliant. She is an archeology student, on exchange from Oxford University, and she wanted to shadow me to discuss my research. I, in turn, invited her to a concert, and after that, we went to the restaurant to discuss politics. I admit that I wouldn't have minded if the evening had turned romantic-- but she was very cool towards me, anyway.

"We ordered and the owner offered a backroom to us for a private dinner. I had always had the beers put on ice in the back for this very occasion. We drank to your health, in thanks for the beer, and began our discussion...

“It...ah, went on for some time, and, I must confess, she held her liquor better than I...I was getting sleepy and invited to call her a cab. She just rose and formally thanked me for my time and left. Then I returned to my home and slept it off.”

Bruce was putting the chess pieces back into place. “Doesn't sound like there ended up being any trouble to me.” Bruce didn't like lying. But this was a lie.

“The trouble started with the death threats.”

Bruce raised one eyebrow. Kent smiled at Bruce's non-reaction. He so seldom got to surprise young Bruce. Bruce sat back and crossed a leg: “I'm listening.”

"Ruby called me and asked to meet me again the next day. She was upset. Her mother had received a tarot card in the mail, with a threatening message on the back."

Before Bruce could ask, he reached into his breast pocket and brought it forth, along with two others.

“At first Ms. Reed ignored it. But then the pattern repeated. She received two more, one each of the next two days. Then it stopped. She tried looking into it, but she couldn't find out anything about where they came from. So she brought them to me. Here are all three cards.” And he placed them on the table: "Strength", "The Magician", and "Judgment".

“What am I looking at?” Bruce said, deferring. Kent was the expert occultist.

"So, as you can see, these are three tarot cards. These are all Major Arcana, from the Rider-Waite version of the Tarot Deck, probably printed circa 1920 or so.

The Major Arcana are trump cards, which, since the late eighteenth century have been recognized as instrumental in occult casting of revelatory spells. Antoine Court, a Protestant Minister and Freemason from France, was one of the first to discover this."

“You see this as credible.” It wasn't a question.

“Court was a Master Sorcerer.”

Bruce just looked at Kent.

"As I've said to you many times, Bruce, mysticism is about the skeptical application of faith to permit the universe to work its wonders for you. From what I have seen and done, it is often useful to assume veracity until someone reveals themselves to be a fraud. I have met many who use the Tarot to great effect...and, according to Ruby, these cards came from a deck of someone who's abilities in divination I can...vouch for. But there is more...”

He turned over the cards and, on their backsides, written in thick black ink were three messages. In the order of the cards they were:

Card 1: _Ten And One, What You Have Taken._

Card 2: _You Will Return. For Gem Of Bat._

Card 3: _In The End. You Must Pay The Balance_

And, most notably, the inked message on the back of the third card was written on top of a pre-existing blood-stain.

Kent finished the background. “These cards belonged to an old flame of mine...let's see, nearly thirty years ago. I was a young man and she was older, in her early thirties. Her name was Maribella Said. Everyone called her “Bella”. Lovely woman. Very passionate about many things. And she was utterly devoted to her practice. She was a medium. She came from a long line of witches. Very skilled. She taught me much.”

“About the occult?”

"About many things. Anyway, she has been murdered. And Ms. Reed was a border of hers when it happened. She said she came home and found Bella dead on the floor. Very upsetting. The place had been ransacked as though the killer had been looking for something. After she alerted the authorities, she left and continued with her schooling and her life. That was six months ago. She came to visit me and then, somehow, these cards started being delivered to her. And she recognized them as cards that had been on the table in front of Bella's dead body during the murder."

“Did she know you were well acquainted with Bella?”

“They had spoken and Bella had mentioned me. That was why she came to visit...when she started studying comparative religion as part of her studies, she knew I was an expert. She had told me that Bella had been killed...come to think of it, that may have been why I overdid it with the drinking...”

“What does she want you to do?”

“She is just afraid. She has no idea who would be sending her these cards...except they would seem to be stolen from the murder scene, somehow. Maybe the people who searched Bella's place think she is the one who has whatever they are looking for?”

“Maybe...,” Bruce held up each card, individually, and carefully examined them against the sunlight shining in the window as he asked: “What are your initial thoughts about these cards?”

"Twenty years ago, Bella tended to use her own hand-drawn cards, rather than commercially printed ones. She thought that helped her. So I was surprised she was using these. But, at any rate, we can infer from the message ending after three cards that whoever sent these knows something about the Tarot. This is because three cards drawn are typically used for readings. They represent, in order, past, present, and future. In divination, the number three is important. This message obviously is a dark one-- a threat. But the threat is also implied by the number cited at the very beginning. See here..."

Kent picked up the first card: "The Strength card is the eighth card in the Waite version of the deck. But it is the eleventh card in the other, later version."

Bruce: “Ten and One.”

Kent: “Yes! And that latter version of Tarot? That was the one popularized by the dark magician Aleister Crowley. Crowley, for his part, changed the order of some of the major arcana and even some of the names. In his version, this card isn't 'Strength'. It represents 'Lust'.”

Bruce waited for more.

"So, as you might imagine--not being entirely without resources myself in this area--I...prayed upon it. For the first two cards, I saw great violence visited against my Bella. Three men, I think. But in the third card, my vision came up against a great, gray wall. This isn't uncommon when you are, yourself, inside a spell of divination. It's hard to see the forest's edge until you emerge, after all. But, I will say this: by the end of my meditations, I still knew what I already had figured out. That whoever sent her these cards was accusing her of lusting for the power of the gem of Bat."

“Okay, I'll bite. I assume 'Bat' isn't the animal,” asked Bruce.

“Ah, no. You are correct. Bat is one of the oldest Egyptian deities. The two-faced Cow-Goddess of fertility. She who sees both behind and ahead. Bella was a bit of a devotee' of hers. Back when I knew her, she talked of becoming an acolyte of Bat's cult.”

“So, 'the Gem of Bat'?”

“Ancient prophecies refer to it. Unspeakable power over time and spacer. Eternal life. Et cetera, et cetera.” Kent shrugged.

Bruce smiled at the nonchalance. Bruce had an idea of how many times Kent has faced and defeated just that sort of challenge when he was younger.

Kent summated, “And so this second card is telling miss Ruby to return the Gem that she's stolen, I think. And the third card reiterates. Don't you think?”

“Hm.” Bruce nodded along, deep in thought. “And now this Ruby person...she's gone into hiding?”

 _How does he do that?_ “Yes, she said she would like to. And I heartily agreed.”

Bruce kept nodding, while he took his tablet out and was entering something into it: “You heartily agreed. Did you tell her you were coming here, to me?”

“Why, yes. I believe I did mention your skills of deduction with regard to crimes and that you might be able to help. No promises, of course...”

Bruce kept nodding and typing, one-handed on his tablet. This kept on for a long while.

At last: “Kent, my friend, I believe I have some good news and some bad news for you.”

“Bad news, first, of course-- while I pour. Then good news, while I drink.” He got up and headed for the bar.

“The blood patterns on this last card, they aren't consistent with a splatter. It is a contact smear,” Bruce began.

“So, during the scuffle...?” he had chosen scotch and was unstoppering the bottle.

"Yeah, no. You would think that, but if you look closely there are still fibers embedded in the bloodstain from the cloth that was used to wipe it on there. This blood was deliberately placed to make its recipient think that it was there at the scene. So, you were right-- these cards were probably not on the table in front of her during the murder."

“But Ruby said they were--so she was wrong.”

“Or lying. I just now checked the school records for Cairo U. Ruby isn't her first name. It's her middle name. Her first name is Siobahn. And she's not currently a student in university...she graduated some ten years ago.”

“But why all the lies? She was so sweet. Do you really think she's a murderer?”

“Probably. But at least that's the end of the bad news.”

Kent jumped the gun and gulped his whiskey in response. “Okay, so what's the good news?”

“I'll tell you on the way.”

“Way to where?”

“To the scene of the crime, of course. C'mon, I'm sure the sweet lady is waiting for us.”

###

They had to go to the literal opposite end of the city.

A footpad got them most of the way. But the residential district where they were going was father down, towards the abandoned docks where much of Cairo's underbelly rested uncomfortably against the tight waistbelt of the Nile.

There were neither street lamps nor a single-window candle to be had. Starlight offered the only luminescence as the two men walked, shadowless, down narrow walkways in the pitch. A torch would have revealed Kent dressed in a tan suit over a yellow and blue pinstriped shirt, his black fedora hiding whatever expression his face might have while his wingtips clicked on the cobblestones. Bruce was dressed in a dark shirt and black work pants with a satchel slung over one shoulder. Bruce's loafers made absolutely no noise whatsoever as he glided near behind.

“Who owns this place now?” asked Kent. Mostly to pass the time.

"Some holding company...the paper trail, such as it is, indicates a string of conveyances-- effectively, the owner will end up being whomever we find there."

After descending various stairs and walkways, they reached a courtyard and lifted themselves onto a ledge to survey the scene. Kent said, "It has been a while, but it is definitely that house there, on that edge of the storm wall."

“Wouldn't there be a sign to indicate her...business? You know, 'Fortune-telling here'?”

“This isn't America, Bruce. Any such sign is beyond the point-- everyone talks. Everyone knows. If something of value is to be found somewhere, people will find it. If not, no sign would help.”

Bruce reached into his bag and brought out a pair of over-sized goggles. He placed them on his head and looked at the house in question: “One heat signature. Laying down. That's good, eh?”

Kent laughed when Bruce looked directly at him. When Bruce took off the goggles and gave him a puzzled look: "Sorry. You just looked like an Owl or something. Or Sherman from Mister Peabody."

“Who?”

"Never mind. Well, Bruce, we should probably be getting back. You figure we'll visit her in the morn--?"

But Bruce had already jumped down and had started walking towards the house.

“Bruce, no! Wait!”

Bruce stopped and turned around.

Kent jumped down, landing heavily and grunting like the middle-aged man that he was. “I think you will be needing my help on this one. Your detective skills do you credit. But you may not understand the stakes.”

“I may not understand the stakes? We're talking about one person.”

“Not all dangers give off a heat signature.”

Bruce took a deep breath, dropped his head momentarily, and then met his friend's eyes with his index finger, "Okay. But I don't want to do any magic stuff. Got it?"

###

A few minutes later, the man in the tan suit and black fedora he reached down and grabbed a couple of rocks, in the small yard in front of the house. He walked to one side of the house and, from there, flung first one rock and then another _PLOCK! PLOCK!_ against the front door.

The door opened. “Who the hell-- oh, Kent! Was that you?” Siobahn was fully dressed, but she had a sheet wrapped over her shoulders nonetheless, to ward off the chill desert night air.

"It was. Hello Ruby. Siobahn. I know it's late...but I need to know..." Kent's form swayed a bit from side to side, his normal, slightly-nasal speech pattern interrupted by the slight slurring. "...When did Bella actually die, Ruby? My friend said the records were incomplete."

She stepped forward, as though eager to engage in the conversation. "Thirty years ago. This very day. Now that mid-nite has passed."

“I'm sorry that your mother had to die such a terrible death.”

“So, you've seen it?” her voice quavered a bit.

The swaying man in Kent's suit could only nod. Kent's visions had been at least that complete. “You could have come to me for help sooner, Siobahn, my...daughter?”

Of course, that had been the 'good news'. Once Bruce asked more questions about the dates of Kent's relationship with Bella the age lined up precisely. This was his love child.

"I can protect you. We can find the gem first. Before the mad cult of Bat does." There had only been rumors down the line over the years; but, from all Kent had heard, 'mad cult' summed them up pretty well. A small group of devotees, lingering throughout the ages, dying out but never completely disappearing...all in the hopes of finding this one legendary 'gem'. A holy dream of power that animated an entire secret society, for eons. Such madness.

Of course, they were promised eternity. So they had a different perspective.

But the woman who stood there was having none of it: “Before them? Oh, they found it. It couldn't very well stay hidden, even if I had been strong enough to do anything about it, back then...but no, I screamed. And they found me..but now, I have all the strength I need.”

And then he heard Siobahn Ruby Said speak words of power-- and then the ground replaced his consciousness.

###

He blacked out. But he sensed that he hadn't been out long. This was because Siobahn and these others helping her were still acting as though he was Kent. That was good.

His impression of drunk-Kent was flawless, if he did say so himself; they were about the same build-- but he had to admit that it was more than that. Kent had put one of his dweomers on Bruce. There was no mirror, but apparently Bruce was a true doppelganger. And it seemed he would remain so, for a while longer. _If_ he could stay alive.

Bruce, in Kent's form, was bound there, in the center of the back yard.

Four lifeless bodies, loosely covered with rotting flesh and dried blood beneath their long black burnooses, had hauled him around the back of the house and tied him to a large stake protruding from the ground. Two were male forms, and two female. But none of them seemed to be...alive.

And now the zombie-helpers were just standing around him, facing outward, with a small gap where their Mistress stood, gazing at the slumped, dazed from of the man who she thought was her father.

If he was still here, and still in Kent's form, it meant that Kent hadn't found what he was looking for inside the house, yet. It was still the middle of the night. He had to keep her talking...

“Do you want to know how I figured it out?” His mouth was cotton.

“I just assume you divined it.”

"Hardly. Your third card. 'Pay the Balance'. That's a late sixteenth-century idiom, not the sort of thing an ancient, millennia-old death-cult is going to come up with."

“Death cults? You sound like an idiot. You know the prophecy:

_As before, After;_  
_Through The Gem of Bat._  
_And Death Shall Not Touch The Believers_

“I, Siobahn Yaqut (“Ruby”) Said, am the 'Gem'. My mother saw my abilities. She trained me. And she tried to protect me, but, in protecting me, she denied me my destiny.

"When the cultists came and killed my Mom, they found me hiding and kidnapped me. But they didn't harm me. Far from it-- they raised me. Eventually I saw that they were the only ones who truly cared for me. I learned their ways. And I learned more than that.

“You see, in good time, I killed their leader and took over. But, throughout it all, I never faced the riddle of what to do about my family. How to reconcile that with my...fate.

“In that way, I guess I was very much like my father...who fled rather than face raising me-- or even accepting my existence!

“But no matter, I have cast the spell. And now I have my father, the greatest mystic on Earth himself, here to seal the spell with his very life's blood.”

At that, one of the zombie-like figures shambled up to meet Bruce/Kent upon the stake. She held a knife extended in each hand.

Siobahn felt it before she saw it. But she yelled out, noticing that the two 'knives' that the zombie-slave was carrying weren't actually knives at all...

They were the two ornamental Daggers of Bat from her mother's drawing-room.

“Wait! Where did you two get those?”

Meanwhile, Bruce, who now looked and felt more like himself, and who had untied himself as soon as he woke up (before he said anything), easily took both daggers from the robed figure, momentarily noting that this was one of the female ones. He didn't know if this creature was alive or dead, or what kind of powers it could bring to bear. Right then its main power was ambulation-- so he nimbly dropped to the ground and cut both her achilles tendons, letting her fall in place for her efforts. Zombie neutralized.

Meanwhile, from off in the distance: "But the spell is already sealed, my child." The voice was from behind the house, emerging from the shadows. It was from Kent!

“How?” Siobahn looked back and forth between the two men and pointed at Kent as though to indicate to the three remaining zombie-creatures their target for attack.

“Enough, child.” And the Kent waved his hands and muttered a word and the three creatures fell as though they truly were just broken corpses. “Your decisive hatred is no substitute for wisdom. Your magic lacks style. You build the mosaic from nose-length away; and so, to you, it is all about loud colors and sharp edges. Stand up and see its beauty as a whole...”

Kent made a dramatic gesture and the pyre of oil and sticks that were at the base of the stake, as well as the wavy dagger blades being held by Bruce, all suddenly burst into a shallow, blue flame. They all glowed with an ochre hue, pulling wan light from the darkness. Bruce inspected them and grunted.

Siobahn rallied. She tried to summon...something, anything. But it was no use. She didn't understand, her power was supposed to be limitless...

Kent sensed her confusion. “You can't do anything else until your existing spell ends. And you've cast the spell to end all spells, let me tell you. For only three cards, I was impressed.”

Siobahn explained to everyone and no one: “They're supposed to have eternal life. That was why it was okay to kill them. I would bring them back...”

“Well, you will! In a manner of speaking.” And then Kent pointed at the man holding the blades like a circus ringmaster, “Okay, Bruce. Go ahead!”

Bruce glanced at his old friend, not quite realizing Kent was asking, but nonetheless getting the gist. He looked down at the two daggers, looked back up, and said simply: “I couldn't have been more clear...”

"Oh, don't be a spoil-sport. Anyhow, it's not magic so much as just cutting with a blade. And that's more up your alley. Just cut the air, like, right there, behind you...First one knife...then the other...Go on, now! The neighbors will be up soon..."

Bruce again made a frumpy face and then suddenly pirouetted and did a theatrical cutting motion in the air-- and the air SPLIT! to reveal a crackling, argent breach across the dimensions...to his credit, he didn't stop for shock. In fact, once he saw what was happening, Bruce endeavored to prolong the motion, to make the breach larger and longer...

...and, then bodies started to fall, out of the rift, onto the ground.

But they didn't land where they should have. Instead, they seemed to fall lower than the ground-level. And Bruce and everyone could see everything clearly, as though the entire scene were well-lit by the desert sun; and they all were standing on glass instead of dirt and sand. The bodies spewed through the rift like newborns and piled up in the sub-ground level. ...It didn't make any sense.

Kent just looked at Siobahn and kept smiling. She just gaped.

After several hundred (thousands?) had fallen and the pile threatened to reach up to where they all were standing, Kent screamed out above the high-pitched whine that no one had noticed until then:

“Now, the other knife. One was the Past! Now give them the Future! Make another cut!”

And Bruce complied. But sensing he needed more space, he walked past Siobahn and stood next to Kent. Then he made another cut...for some reason, he knew to do this one vertical. And just as before, another glowing breach emerged.

This one seemed to vaguely incorporate an Ankh-shape.

The bodies that had been dumped all began to animate. They shuffled and slowly scampered to stand. And, finally, after long long minutes of this business, they eventually, like a colony of ants, began to file upward and out, through the second breach, parading past all three of them.

After they all left, only four people remained. Bruce, Kent, Siobahn, and the female zombie near the flaming pyre. That one was just repeatedly trying to stand, only to keep falling.

Siobahn walked over to the sad figure and just stood there: “What about this one?”

Kent walked up and said, firmly: “You know her name. Use it.”

“To me, she was Mama. You couldn't have just...undone my spell?”

“Ah, no. You are too powerful. It was already in place. And, it was...well, destined to be.”

“Where did they come from? And where did they go?” This was Bruce. Still in battle stance, near the breach, as though guarding against something coming back through.

“They went to the beginning. Ten millennia ago. They will be the initiates of the First Order of the Goddess Bat,” the older man answered.

“Eternal life.” Siobahn chimed to herself.

"In a sense. The eternal life thing, in this case, is more of an ouroboros. And it's for the Order, not for the individuals. Although those individuals will get a second life once they get back there. As for where they came from...care to guess? You have a clue right here...the zombie I transferred the alternate daggers to..." And he pointed to the female form that was struggling on the ground. That challenge was for Bruce, but it was the girl who answered.

"They were the victims. All the people who had been killed or sacrificed by the Order throughout the ages."

Kent just nodded.

“So, she has to go? And you can't undo the spell, even just for her?”

Kent shook his head but added: "Although, in the Crowley deck, the Judgment card is also called the Aeon card. And it stands for second chances. As I said, everyone gets a second life once they get there. That was in your spell, too."

And then Siobahn understood. With the help of the two men, she lifted her mother's struggling form onto her shoulders.

“My daughter, make no mistake. This trip will kill you. But it is the only way that your mother can be taken through. Even after your death, the Lords of Order should be with you.”

“I understand.”

“Oh, and, um, before you go, Siobahn, you should know. Your mother meant a lot to me. And she never told me that she was pregnant. I left to continue my studies and I thought she chose to stay behind because she didn't want to travel. I mean, she was already nearly forty. It never even occurred to me. She-- she never told me. Really.”

“If she had told you, would you have stayed?”

“I would like to think so.”

“He would have,” said Bruce. _Ah, Young Bruce,_ Kent thought, _Thank you, but we all change. You only know who I am now. Your day will come._

But Kent's daughter seemed to understand. All spells, even eternal ones like revenge, or childhood, have to end.

Wiping a tear from her eye, she walked through the breach, carrying her family, to the beginning of history.

###

The two men were silent most of the way back. Bruce had carefully examined both of the comb-daggers and found them to be made of mostly iron, likely meteorite derivatives. Crappy balance.

They made poor weapons.

Once he had completely satisfied himself that they were utterly prosaic, he placed them into his satchel. Maybe someday he'll start a museum...

Then Kent finally started in: “You did well back there. And here I thought you were afraid of Bats.”

"Hilarious." Bruce's deep voice still carried an edge of anger. He hated magic. “Do me a favor. Next time you meet a woman who strikes your fancy, wear your helmet.”

“Ha! Touche´. You're a funny guy, young Bruce.”

“Yeah, I think that's going to be my main thing, someday. C'mon, let's go get a drink.”


End file.
